The Malice at the Palace

I want there to be no misunderstanding, so let me make my position clear right from the start. I am not claiming to be any less hot headed or more capable of showing restraint during an altercation than Ron Artest. I'm a little older than Ron, perhaps somewhat more mature, but that's subjective opinion and my intent here is to stick with the facts. The fact is that if anybody came into my place of business and threw their beverage on me, they would at the very least be the recipient of a bad intentioned punch to the face. It's a matter of pride, of dignity, of dry cleaning expense. I would enjoy being showered in beer or soft drink as much as the next sane guy, which is to say, not very much at all.

Although we share matching mindsets when it comes to being doused by a stranger, there are a few subtle but critical differences between Mr. Artest and myself. He is considerably taller than me, and I'll concede that he's a better athlete, or at least a better basketball player. As result, Ron Artest is employed by the NBA. Like the rest of his co-workers, he's pretty well paid, earning millions of dollars per year to dribble and shoot and defend. Playing professional basketball at an elite level automatically qualifies him to be a beloved celebrity, if not necessarily a role model. The role of rich and famous athlete comes with all sorts of great perks, such as the opportunity to record a vanity rap album to name just one. This makes being Ron Artest not too bad a deal. I've learned to be content as an obscure middle class armchair quarterback who pens articles for your entertainment. My deal comes with far fewer perks, but also protects me from being subjected to some of Ron's hardships.

For example, I rarely if ever have to deal with hecklers at work. I've received a few rejection letters from editors over the years that were less than pleasant, but to date, not a single editor or literary critic has shown up at my office to call me nasty names, hurl personal insults, and demand that I be taken out of the game. Any disappointing, or infuriating, or humiliating experiences that I find myself subject to are not played out in view of the demanding public. If I choose to make a fool of myself, the only image that will be tarnished is my own. When I misbehave, for better or worse I only have my wife to answer to. So far in our marriage she has yet to suspend me.

Like my wife, the NBA commissioner is adept at administering a stern message when deemed necessary. On Sunday, November 21 he made himself loud and clear regarding what he is unwilling to tolerate. Vince McMahon need not fear that the NBA will ever compete against his pro wrestling league when it comes to selling violence, artistic or otherwise. Ron Artest may have thrown the first and last punches during the fracas that took place when his Indiana Pacers visited the world champion Detroit Pistons, but David Stern got the final word a couple days later when he suspended Artest for the remainder of the season.

Was Ron Artest justified when he leapt from the scorer's table that he was inexplicably laying upon after some liquid refreshment was thrown on him, charged into the stands, and started to throw punches at a spectator who was in the vicinity of where the beverage came from? Some might think so. Others would even say that he exercised good judgment by placing his physical safety at a premium, opting to attack a fan (the wrong one, as it turns out) that he figured he could easily take rather than going after Detroit's sculptured and afro'd Ben Wallace, the player who had just roughly shoved Artest after being fouled by him. Rather than retaliating against Wallace, Ron Artest decided to take a rest while the other players on the court bumped chests and did their best to appear macho without doing enough to collect personal fouls. Then the beverage went flying and Ron Artest decided to escalate a run-of-the-mill NBA scene into an ugly, dangerous near riot. I say "decided" because even if his initial burst of anger was instinctive and excusable, he certainly had enough time while stumbling towards his intended victim to ponder the possible repercussions. He had ample opportunity to reconsider what he was about to do. He could have simply grabbed the fan by the shirt collar and given him a piece of his mind. So that the punishment might fit the crime, he could have grabbed another fan's drink and done some beverage tossing of his own. He even could have decided to turn around, rather than ruining the promise of his career and the playoff chances of his team in selfish defense of his own ego. But instead he chose to make the transformation from basketball player to street fighter, from representative of David Stern's world class NBA to common thug.

Ron Artest's actions may have been just the sort of thing to make his album go gold or platinum, but he had to realize that his decision making would not endear him to his employer. "The actions of the players involved wildly exceeded the professionalism and self-control that should fairly be expected from NBA players," Stern said in a prepared statement, adding that the league must not "allow our sport to be debased by what seems to be declining expectations." Hard to argue with that.

Anyone who watches ESPN or sports coverage on their local newscast has seen the footage. They saw how Ron Artest took a bad situation and made it far worse. They stared in shock as he crossed the line, both figuratively and literally, that is drawn between spectator and professional athlete. The brawl was instigated neither by Ron Artest's foul nor Ben Wallace's response to it, but by a mindless fan in expensive seats who threw an overpriced drink into the fray. Fans are allowed to cheer or shout disapproval to their heart's content during games. But when an object or substance is thrown on to a court or field of play, it can create a dangerous situation. If law enforcement possesses film that shows who the culprit was, they should definitely take action against the individual. As for the players who were involved in the mayhem, they are David Stern's responsibility, and he wasted little time dishing out punishment. Four players were suspended for a game apiece because they left their bench area. Ben Wallace was suspended for six games and Anthony Johnson of the Pacers was suspended for five. Indiana's Stephen Jackson was suspended for 30 games and Jermaine O'Neal for 25, since they were especially active participants in the madness. As for Mr. Artest, he can spend the rest of the season actively promoting his album, because he will not be allowed to play in Commissioner Stern's basketball league, or to collect his paychecks.

Ron Artest has not exactly been a choirboy during his time in the NBA, so his actions came as no big surprise. As for David Stern's harsh reaction, there will be those who disagree with its severity, and the Player's Association will probably contest it. But with a really great deal comes minimal responsibility. Ron Artest was able to enjoy all the perks of being young, rich, and famous. To maintain them, he needed only to play the game of basketball and keep his pampered fists to himself. This proved too difficult a task for him. David Stern's hand was forced to make a strong statement against chaos, and that is precisely what he did.

I shake my head at Ron Artest's folly, but I can't claim to be mad at him. For however much harm he caused, at least his actions hushed ridiculous overreaction to the "scandalous" commercial starring Terrell Owens and Nicollette Sheridan that showed during Monday Night Football recently. Janet Jackson's breast are bared before Justin Timberlake during halftime at the Super Bowl and people lose their minds. Nicollette Sheridan drops her towel to tantalize the controversial TO and people do likewise, even though it's just a silly commercial and no naughty bits are actually exposed. Outrage seems to be the automatic reaction in this country whenever sexuality is displayed between an attractive black person and an attractive white person. Well, maybe not all the time, but certainly when it shows up unexpectedly on national TV during prime time. After all, we have the precious sensibilities of our children to protect. Those who protest all things lewd will no doubt continue to raise a fuss. But the talking heads of sports need not concern themselves any longer with the uncomfortable subject of inappropriate sexual content, because the more familiar subject of reckless violence has surfaced and taken its rightful place at center stage.